Fertilizer?

No serious thinky thoughts this week: I’m home in the bosom of my family, and they often want to go out and do things. (In my father’s case, very self-improving things like polishing the inside of my car headlights. I can’t really complain, since I brought several items home to take advantage of his lifetime supply of epoxy. Only fair I do his handy suggestions too)

I wanted to share with you all something I encountered on my drive home, right beside I-5. Sadly the photo I can find of the outside only gives you a tiny taste, but leave the main website up in a tab for a while, as I did while typing this entry, and you’ll discover some of the flavor. (For those without sound, about every two minutes, a farm animal moos (or bleats or oinks) at you.) The building looks like the decorators backed their truck up to their neighborhood KITSCH WAREHOUSE CLUB and told them to load anything bovine with black and white splotches.

This is what I want to know. Why ranch? Why not farm? While it is perhaps mildly disturbing to imagine a field of mattresses growing happily in the sun, and being plucked from the embrace of a vine to be dried, packaged, and shipped; it goes well beyond mild to imagine mattresses cavorting happily in herds, until they’re lined up and led to be electrically shocked until they stop moving with heavy, fabric flollops and lie still, ready to be sterilized and shipped so you can lie upon their fluffy, plush carcasses.

…that just went to a very strange place from which I think I will back away slowly. Enjoy your holiday weekend, boys and girls! *cough*